


We Two Scorched the Earth

by annathaema (moony)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Awkward Kissing, Bottom Luke, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Needs A Hug, Handwaving, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Loss of Virginity, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Epiosde: s02e08 The Rescue, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, RIP Razor Crest, Sex In A Cave, Stranded, The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28709040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moony/pseuds/annathaema
Summary: Luke scampered the short distance and tumbled into the cave, scooting behind a rock at the entrance. He waited and listened until he picked up distant howling that went on for minutes, or maybe hours, and then, finally, the faint moo of banthas as they moved away. They were leaving. Whew.That left Luke with a much bigger problem: The Sand People knew he was here, they’d likely sabotaged or stolen the speeder by now, and he was stranded in a cave with nothing but a rifle with three rounds left, a survival pack good for only a couple of days, and no transport home. Great. Luke leaned against the wall of the cave and tipped his head back, thumping the back of it against the stone over and over. He closed his eyes and wished for rescue.Someone groaned.—A Tatooine farm boy finds a wounded Mandalorian in a cave. You know the rest.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 90
Kudos: 876





	We Two Scorched the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quasi-alternate universe wherein Din and Luke meet earlier in the canon and everything happens but Din already has the beskar armor and the jetpack already. Just go with it. *handwavey gesture* 
> 
> Thank you so much to my betas, Panickin_Skywalker and gluten_full!
> 
> Update 2/11/21: Now with added editing! Some stuff got changed, moved around, deleted, rewritten. Same story, just a lot tighter.*

_—_

_We're wounded by fear - injured in doubt_

_I can lose myself - you I can't live without_

_Yeah you keep me holding on_

_—_

To begin with, he really shouldn’t have been out so late.

Luke grumbled and slid back under the speeder. He pried open the service panel and started tugging at errant wires. The borrowed speeder was ancient, and as such the stupid thing had shorted out again, leaving him stranded in the middle of Sand People territory. Dusk was coming fast, and any desert kid with half a brain knew not to get caught out of doors after dusk. He hurriedly jammed one end of a wire into the circuit board and was shocked for his efforts.

“Damn it!” He shook out his hand and scooted out from under the speeder, sucking on his forefinger with a scowl.

“Uncle Owen’s gonna kill me,” he muttered as he sat up, "if the Sand People don’t beat him to it.” He had a hunting rifle with him, and he’d _borrowed_ Uncle Owen’s vibroblade, but neither stood much chance against a gaffi stick. If he were ambushed, it’d be lights out for Skywalker.

Luke felt a growing sense of unease as he got to his feet. The back of his head tingled unpleasantly, and his belly churned with the sense of losing his balance. He calmly picked up his rifle, cocking it and holding it loosely at the ready. He kept the speeder at his back as he looked around slowly, feeling the scrape of eyes against his skin from all directions.

He was _definitely_ not alone.

He heard the horrible screech in time to duck the gaffi stick that would have most certainly shattered his skull. Luke was absolutely a dead man, he knew, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He was decent enough in a scrap, having spent most of his adolescence as a target for Anchorhead bullies, and was legendary among the local womp rat population as handy with a blaster, which he would have given anything for as he rolled away from another strike. The rifle was useful but not at close range.

Or was it?

Luke swung it around full-force and clocked the Tusken in the head with the barrel of it, sending them reeling back. Luke scrambled away, grabbing his survival pack from the speeder in one fluid motion and running for it. He didn’t know where he was going to end up, or for how long.

“Help!” he cried out as he leapt over rocks. “Anyone!” He knew it was a long shot that anyone _else_ would be stupid enough in the middle of the Wastes at dusk, but he had to take that chance. “Help!” Something pointed him north, so he went north, convincing himself he'd find someone just around the next stone. Or the next one. Or the one after that.

Luke hesitated. He felt a cold breeze on his neck and was struck with a vision of another gaffi stick coming right for him. Instinctively he ducked, narrowly avoiding a terrible headache. He swung his rifle around wildly and was relieved to strike what sounded like the Tusken's knees with the butt of it. The Tusken made that _noise_ that haunted Luke's nightmares. He lunged away from them and grabbed his rifle, running for the rocks. He needed cover.

Almost immediately he was tackled from above, the Sand Person roaring in his ear as they tried to grind Luke's face into the dirt. He shouted gibberish as he fought them off, struggling until he could roll over and jab his rifle into their gut. He fired. The bolt went clean through, leaving behind smoke and a meaty smell, and Luke pushed the body away. He jumped to his feet and fled.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he stumbled through the rocks. He slid into a tiny crevice no Tusken would be able to fit into— _make fun of me now for being a little guy, Trapper_ —and hunkering down. He’d fought a Sand Person before but from a distance, chasing them away from the farm with his rifle, but he’d never actually killed one before. He'd never get the smell of burning flesh out of his mind.

 _I killed someone_ , he thought hysterically. _Fuck, I’m a murderer._

He swallowed the nausea down and took a deep breath. _Freak out later_ , he told himself. _Get the hell out of here, first._

The Sand People began to howl in fury. He knew grief when he heard it; they’d found the body of their fellow tribesman. He was well and truly fucked, now.

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered soundlessly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. They couldn’t hear him, and would still kill him despite his apology, but he said the words anyway. “I’m so sorry.”

The screaming stopped and Luke forgot how to breathe. The dead silence told him they were hunting him. He was being _hunted_ , like a womp rat. It didn’t feel great; if he got out of this alive, Luke was going to have to seriously reconsider shooting them for fun.

He held perfectly still. Time stretched from seconds into minutes as Luke listened intently for the shuffle of Tusken boots. He still had no warning when a gaffi stick was shoved into his side.

“Ow, shit!” Luke fell out of the crevice and staggered to another outcropping, ducking behind a tall pillar stone. He crouched low. His side ached, but upon inspection it wasn’t bleeding. _Gonna be one heck of a bruise,_ he thought.

Luke looked down at his rifle. He only had a few rounds, not enough to take out a band of Raiders, and sniping a few of them would only anger them more. Luke was already facing torture and death for killing one of their own. If he killed any more, he’d be lucky if that was all he got.

“What do I do?” he mumbled under his breath. “What the hell do I do?”

Luke heard the approaching whisk of robes against the ground and immediately abandoned his hiding spot, creeping through the stone forest and looking around desperately for some way to escape. He heard grunts nearby—there were definitely more of them now. Luke was a _goner_.

Then he saw it, his chance. It was almost an optical illusion, but Luke could make it out: a few feet away, blending into what looked like a solid wall of stone, was the mouth of a small cave. If he was fast and silent, he could make it.

He was both. He scampered the short distance and tumbled into the cave, scooting behind a rock at the entrance. He waited and listened until he picked up distant howling that went on for minutes, or maybe hours, and then, finally, the faint moo of banthas as they moved away. They were leaving. _Whew_.

That left Luke with a much bigger problem: The Sand People knew he was here, they’d likely sabotaged or stolen the speeder by now, and he was stranded in a cave with nothing but a rifle with three rounds left, a survival pack good for only a couple of days, and no transport home. _Great._ Luke leaned against the wall of the cave and tipped his head back, thumping the back of it against the stone over and over. He closed his eyes and wished for rescue.

Someone groaned.

“What the—” Luke whirled around with the rifle raised and pointed it at a pile of fabric on the other side of the cave. He lowered the rifle in confusion until the lump moved and he immediately raised it again. The lump made another noise, and it took Luke a moment too long to realize there was a person in it.

“Who’re you?” he demanded, rifle shaking in his hands. The groaning didn’t sound like a Tusken. It sounded a little robotic. A droid?

“Hng.” The lump moved again.

Luke’s rifle wavered.

“Uh, hello?” he ventured. The creature sat up slowly and immediately curled forward. Luke gulped, but he didn't raise his rifle. Something told him he didn't need to.

“Get—get out,” they said. Their voice was strained and hoarse, almost monotone. Definitely not a droid, but the being's voice was definitely modulated. A helmet.

“You don’t sound too good, pal,” said Luke. He set the rifle aside; something told him this being—he was going to guess human, for now—meant him no harm. “You okay?”

“M’fine.” They listed to one side and in the fading light through the mouth of the cave Luke could see the sheen and shadow of a distinctive visor.

 _A Mandalorian?!_ Luke scuttled back.

“I said, get out,” said the Mandalorian, and Luke wanted nothing more than to comply. He knew he couldn’t however, and not just because of the Sand People.

“Do you need help?” Luke asked carefully. He didn’t raise the rifle again, but he didn’t put it down, either. “You sound like you’re injured.”

The Mandalorian grunted. “I’m _fine_ ,” he said. “ _Leave_.”

Luke frowned. “Look, I can’t,” he said. “I killed one of the Sand People. The minute I set foot out there, they’ll rip me apart. I’m stuck here until someone comes looking for me.”

“I will throw you to them,” said the Mandalorian with some effort. Luke snorted.

“I don’t think you could right now, friend,” he said. “Seriously, if you need help—”

“I’m _fine_.” The Mandalorian coughed hard, a horrible wet sound. Luke winced. That did _not_ sound good. “Not your _friend._ ”

“I’m so sorry,” said Luke crankily. “I can call you _asshole_ if you prefer.”

The Mandalorian made a rude noise that sounded like it hurt.

“Let me help,” he said, shrugging off his pack. “I have supplies. I can _help_.” The Mandalorian shook his head. He inhaled shakily as if to respond, but immediately the breath left the Mandalorian in a rush as he crumpled to the ground.

“Shit!” Luke lunged toward the Mandalorian and rolled him onto his back. The light was almost gone, so Luke awkwardly dragged the Mandalorian’s body deeper into the cave, further away from any Sand People that might be patrolling nearby. He was going to help the guy, despite him being about as charming as the wrong end of a dewback, and he would need light to see.

“Okay,” said Luke, overwhelmed by how _dark_ it was around them. He dug around in his pack and cheered softly when his hand closed around the emergency light. He snapped it on and stuck it in a crack in the cave wall. He was finally able to see the Mandalorian, and his breath caught in his throat.

The Mandalorian was clad head to toe in armor; no skin showing, not an inch of it, not even a scrap of wrist or neck. And it wasn’t just any kind of armor—a full set of beskar, unpainted and left a beautiful silver, though at the moment it was covered in mud and what Luke suspected was blood—he wondered how much of it had belonged to the Mandalorian. He had weapons strapped all over himself; Luke couldn’t name any of them beyond the blaster holstered at his side. He caught sight of a strange rifle leaning against the wall behind the Mandalorian, and a jetpack lying askew on the floor.

 _Probably a bounty hunter_ , thought Luke. _And definitely not very nice. But he doesn’t deserve to die alone in a cave on this stupid, empty pile of sand._

He sighed and rummaged in his pack again for the bacta Aunt Beru made him carry everywhere, and a roll of bandages. He would have to strip the Mandalorian of his armor to find the injury. It looked complicated, and he’d have to move the Mandalorian’s body around to get to it all and he was probably really heavy. Luke sighed.

 _Head injury_ , Luke thought. The fact that the Mandalorian had passed out told him he’d better check for that first. He reached out and hooked his fingers under the bottom of the Mandalorian’s helmet and started to lift.

Two gloved hands shot up and grabbed his wrists painfully. Luke cried out and let go.

“Sorry!” he said. “Sorry! I just wanted to see if you were injured!”

“Try it again,” said the Mandalorian through labored breathing, “and I’ll—I’ll kill you.”

Luke blinked. “You can’t take it off, can you?” he said. “I remember hearing something about that. There are stories about Mandalorians who don’t reveal their faces. It’s, uh, your religion?”

“Yes,” said the Mandalorian wearily. He sounded resigned, and his voice was soft. “Please, just leave me.” It didn’t sound as threatening as everything else the Mandalorian had said. “I don’t want to die listening to you babbling.”

Luke was appalled. “You’re not going to die!” He wrenched his arms free and picked up the bacta. “Look, just—if I turn around, will you at least check _yourself_ over? And use this on whatever hurts?” He thrust the bacta at him and stared at where he assumed the Mandalorian’s eyes might be, in defiance.

The Mandalorian was so silent for such a long time that Luke thought he’d passed out again. Then he leaned forward and snatched the bacta out of Luke’s hand.

“Turn around.” It was not a request.

“You got it,” said Luke. He scooted away and turned his back to the Mandalorian. He probably shouldn't turn his back on an armed stranger who already didn't like him, but Luke did it without hesitation.

 _I really don’t feel like he’s a threat,_ he thought, staring at the opposite wall. _I don’t know why._

“Do you need me to talk you through it?” he asked, mostly to fill the oppressive silence in the cave. He had no idea how much training in first aid a Mandalorian might have. He realized after he said it that they probably had quite a lot, if their religion was built around violence.

Luke shuddered. He didn’t like complicated and restrictive belief systems. He didn’t know why people subscribed to them so easily. He never would. He knew better.

“Fuck off,” muttered the Mandalorian, his voice no longer mechanically modulated, and Luke wisely shut up. He listened quietly to the hiss of the bacta spray being applied and the few soft, creative curses that followed, both in Basic and in a language Luke had never heard before. Luke longed to help. He was built that way, said Aunt Beru. She called him _noble to a fault_ , but Luke believed in helping others, even if it meant bad news for himself, so he didn’t really see it as a _fault_ , per se. Maybe a little misguided, but caring for the welfare of others was not, in his opinion, a character flaw.

Luke had never met a Mandalorian before. There were Mandalorians in the galaxy who _did_ remove their helmets, but legends persisted of those who would not, lone warriors who chose to be bounty hunters and mercenaries, living their lives in anonymity. Luke had heard they didn’t even have _names_ , which baffled him. He wondered if the Mandalorian behind him had a name.

 _He sounds like he could be handsome_ , thought Luke. He rolled his eyes at himself and shook his head to clear it. _This is not the time nor the place, Skywalker. He’s hurt bad enough that he thinks he’s dying, and the Sand People want to throw you into a sarlacc pit. You have priorities._

Finally, the Mandalorian sighed in relief and Luke relaxed a little. He heard the groan of old leather straps, the shotgun-loud click of armor being set back into place, the scrape of beskar against the stone floor

“Alright,” said the Mandalorian, his voice eerily metallic again, though it sounded calmer than it had before. “I’m done.”

Luke turned around until he was facing the Mandalorian. “How are you doing?” he asked tentatively.

“Better.” The Mandalorian shifted with a grunt, but it didn’t sound as agonized anymore. “Thank you.” It was the most begrudging _thank you_ that Luke had ever heard.

“You’re welcome,” said Luke with sincerity. “What happened?”

The Mandalorian took a deep, shuddery breath. “I did something the Sand People didn’t like,” he said. “They let me know.” He coughed. “A lot.”

“Everyone on Tatooine knows the Sand People are dangerous,” said Luke bitterly. “My uncle told me that my grandmother was tortured and murdered by them.”

“They aren’t the nicest folk around, but they're not all bad,” said the Mandalorian. “There are good tribes that aren’t necessarily as violent. I work with them frequently.”

“Right, _not all Sand People_ ,” said Luke, unconvinced. “That you can still defend them when they almost killed you says a lot, I guess.”

“They’re misunderstood. I know something about that.” The Mandalorian nodded at him. “How’d _you_ end up in here?”

“Speeder broke down,” said Luke. “They got the drop on me. It’s probably gone by now, destroyed or dismantled and sitting in a sand crawler by now. I have no way home.”

“Where’s home?” asked the Mandalorian.

“Moisture farm about ten klicks east of here,” he said. “Was out, uh, joyriding, broke down on the way back.”

“Really.” The Mandalorian sounded unimpressed. Luke bristled.

“Not much else to do around here,” he said defensively. “Pod-racing, shooting womp rats, that’s about it.” He lifted his chin. “I don’t pod-race. My father did, but my aunt and uncle never let me get into it. I learned to fly instead and got good with a blaster.”

The Mandalorian huffed. “I bet,” he said dryly. He started to get up and groaned so loud Luke hissed at him and made shushing motions with his hands.

“You’re gonna get us killed,” he said quietly, urgently. “They’ve got scouts out there, guaranteed. It’s bad enough we have to have the light on.”

“My mistake,” said the Mandalorian, voice dripping with agonized sarcasm. “I’ll try—try to reign it in.”

“Sorry, I mean, just—” Luke lay a hand on the Mandalorian’s shoulder and was shaken off immediately. How the Mandalorian could feel such a light touch through solid beskar, Luke didn’t know.

The Mandalorian slumped back down with a soft, broken sound. “I don’t have time for this,” he said angrily. “I’ve got to go.”

Luke scoffed. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “Bacta needs time to work, and you can’t go out there like this anyway. The Sand People would cook your liver for breakfast.”

The Mandalorian made a rude noise. “Most of them wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“The operative word being _most_ ,” said Luke. “Look, just—is it just the helmet you can’t take off? Or can you take off your armor?” He blinked, realizing how that sounded. “To sleep,” he added quickly. “So you can sleep and heal.”

“…just the helmet,” said the Mandalorian hesitantly. “But I’d rather not take off my armor.”

“I can protect you.” As soon as it left his mouth Luke knew it was a stupid thing to say, but instead of laughing, the Mandalorian hummed.

“Thanks for the offer,” he said, and Luke was surprised by the reluctant sincerity behind it. Luke wondered how many people had ever offered to protect the Mandalorian. _Probably not many_ , he mused. _He looks like most of the time he can take care of himself._

“Listen,” said Luke, “if I put out the emergency light it’ll be pitch black in here. You can take off your armor and I won’t see a thing.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said the Mandalorian, not sounding convinced.

"Does it?" asked Luke.

Silence, then a long sigh. "Fine," said the Mandalorian. He sounded exhausted. “Put out the lights and go over there.” He gestured to the far side of the cave—only a few feet away, but far enough that Luke couldn’t accidentally bump into him in his sleep.

Luke nodded. “First, though.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a pouch of water and a ration bar. “Here,” he said, passing them to the Mandalorian. “Eat that once the lights are out. Bacta makes you hungry, and you’ll get a headache if you don’t eat.”

“Sure,” said the Mandalorian dully. He clearly did not like the idea of taking off his armor at all, even in the dark. “Thank you,” he said again, roughly but a lot more sincere this time.

“Two thank yous in a row?” Luke smiled. “Hey, I’m doing pretty good.”

The Mandalorian grunted. “Weird desert kid.”

“Excuse me,” said Luke. “I am a weird desert _man_ , thanks.”

“You’re kidding,” said the Mandalorian. “You can’t be more than twenty.”

“ _Nineteen_ ,” said Luke, annoyed. “As of six months ago.”

“Happy birthday,” said the Mandalorian with a snort. “Okay, weird desert _man_. What’s your name?”

“Luke Skywalker.” Luke took out a ration bar for himself and took a bite, waiting for the Mandalorian to finally introduce himself.

Silence.

“What, uh, do I call you?” Luke tried.

“Mando’s fine,” came the gruff reply. “Everyone calls me that.”

Luke chewed his ration bar thoughtfully. “Do you… _not_ have a name?” he asked.

“No,” said the Mandalorian.

“Really?” Luke knew he was being rude, but curiosity won out over civility. "You don’t have a _name_?”

"Had one," said the Mandalorian. “I renounced it when I swore the Creed.” He nodded at the light. "Put that out already."

 _I can’t imagine not being Luke Skywalker,_ thought Luke as he reached up for the emergency light. He pulled it free of the wall and, after making sure he had water and food within reach and tucking himself close to the wall, turned the light off, plunging the cave into complete darkness.

“Wow,” he said, laying down. "I can't see anything. I can't see my hands."

Good.” Luke heard the movement of plate armor shifting as the Mandalorian began to take it off with weary hands, until a soft curse and a thud caused Luke to sit up.

“You okay?” he asked the darkness.

“I can’t…” The Mandalorian said, breathing hard. “You—you can put the light back on. I can’t get my armor off." It sounded like it hurt him even more to admit that than his injuries did. Luke’s heart ached for him.

“I can help,” he said softly.

“You can’t see,” said the Mandalorian. “My helmet has enhanced vision. I can see.”

“Well, can I borrow it?”

“ _No_.”

“Fair enough.” Luke sighed. “Guide me over to where you are and let me try. Okay?”

The Mandalorian said nothing for a long time, to the point where Luke thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. Then, a soft grunt.

Fine,” said the Mandalorian. “I’m reaching out toward you. Find my hand.”

Luke reached out. “Like this?”

“Yes. Move straight forward, keep your hand out.” Feeling silly Luke obeyed, scooting forward slowly on his knees with one hand stretched out before him. "Almost there," said the Mandalorian.

After a few moments of shuffling along on his knees, Luke’s hand bumped into something and he jerked back with a little yelp. The Mandalorian actually laughed, a short, clipped sound, but still a genuine laugh.

Instead of embarrassment Luke felt a little bit of triumph.

“Good job,” said the Mandalorian dryly. “Give me your hand.”

Luke reached out and caught the Mandalorian’s hand in his. The glove was gone, leaving soft, warm skin behind. He did not mishear the Mandalorian's soft intake of breath when their fingers touched. Luke allowed him to guide him forward and to the side, until they were seated next to each other. Luke tried to let go, but the Mandalorian instead pressed Luke’s palm against one of his vambraces.

“You can start there,” said the Mandalorian. "Get those off first."

Luke ran his hands over the vambrace and found the straps, and though it was tricky to do blind he was able to unfasten them. Once it was free Luke put it aside carefully and the Mandalorian put his other arm into Luke’s hands. The second vambrace joined the first. The Mandalorian sighed in relief and Luke could sense him stretching his arms.

“Anything broken?” asked Luke.

“Nothing that I can feel,” said the Mandalorian. “I…might have fallen off a cliff.”

Luke would have stared at him if he could have. “You fell off a _cliff_?”

“I was being _chased_ ,” the Mandalorian said stiffly. “It was either be skinned alive by Sand People or jump and take my chances.”

“The canyon’s full of jagged rocks!” exclaimed Luke. “You could have been killed!”

“There was a possibility, yeah," said the Mandalorian darkly. "But if I had it would have been on _my_ terms."

It dawned on Luke that the Mandalorian had chosen to chance death than have his helmet removed against his will. He was as awed as he was bewildered. Luke wondered if he’d ever have convictions he believed in so deeply that he’d die for them. He couldn't imagine, but he knew what it meant to want a choice in what happened to you.

“Okay,” he said quietly. Without another word he busied himself searching out one of the Mandalorian’s pauldrons. When he found it, he gave it a good tug, but it was attached to the Mandalorian firmly.

“There’s a catch,” said the Mandalorian. “On the underside.”

Luke poked around with his fingers until he felt the little switch. The pauldron lifted away easily, and he put it with the rest. He shifted around to the Mandalorian’s other side, letting his hand run across his back as a guide.

When Luke’s hand paused between his shoulder blades, palm flush against his back, the Mandalorian shivered.

“Are you cold?” asked Luke, yanking his hand away. “I can’t build a fire, but I have a blanket in my pack.”

“No, it’s—” The Mandalorian sounded like he was gritting his teeth. “Just hurry it up.”

“Alright, alright.” Luke found and snapped off the other pauldron. "Do you want the chest plate off, too?" he asked.

“Yeah.” The Mandalorian found Luke’s hands and placed them on the straps at his sides. Luke tugged at one and the Mandalorian grunted.

“Sorry,” said Luke as he fumbled the straps open and helped the Mandalorian out of the vest, casting it aside a little more carelessly than he’d been with the other components. The Mandalorian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day—maybe longer. The air left him in a rush and Luke felt him teeter to one side. He felt for the Mandalorian’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Okay?” he asked, voice soft. “Mando?”

“Hnng.” The Mandalorian swallowed audibly. “Fine. Yeah, I’m fine. I can—take it from here.”

“Good.” Luke patted his shoulder. “Can you, uh, direct me back to my pack?”

“Turn to your right,” said the Mandalorian. Luke did. "Face forward and crawl until you bump into something."

“Excellent directions,” said Luke as he turned and began inching forward in what he hoped was the right direction. When he hit his head gently on the cave wall and his hands found his pack on the ground, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, made it.”

“Mm.” The Mandalorian rustled around for several minutes and Luke heard the rest of the armor being unstrapped and set aside. Eventually the Mandalorian’s labored breathing became softer, steadier. Luke hoped he felt at least marginally better without all that beskar weighing him down.

With the Mandalorian settled, the cave descended into an almost otherworldly silence. When Luke cleared his throat it sounded like blaster fire.

“Sorry,” he whispered, but his voice still felt impossibly loud. “Any better?”

“Yes.” The Mandalorian’s voice was unmodulated again. Luke wanted to hear more of it. “What do we do in the morning?”

“Well, we figure out a way back to my farm,” said Luke. There was a very pregnant silence and Luke smacked himself in the head. “You meant your armor,” he said stupidly. “Ok, if I wake first, I won’t open my eyes or turn around.”

The Mandalorian made a soft sound. “Alright,” he said eventually.

“If I do, you can k-kill me,” Luke added. He hadn’t _meant_ to say it, but he felt compelled to. It was a promise he thought a Mandalorian would appreciate. “So there’s nobody alive who’s seen your face.”

“That’s…extreme,” said the Mandalorian, sounding amused at Luke’s expense. He didn’t mind; at least the guy wasn’t actively dying anymore. “I don’t think it will come to that.”

“Okay.” Luke stretched out with his head on his pack. He looked up, even though there was no ceiling to see. “There’s more bacta in my pack,” he said. “If you need it. You’ll probably need it, ‘cause it’s the cheap stuff.”

“Alright,” came the sleepy reply. A yawn. Then another. “Does—does bacta make you…”

Luke smiled. “Yeah, knocks me out,” he said. It was _his_ turn to be amused. “Naptime in three…two…one…?”

The Mandalorian groaned. “…fuck.”

A moment of silence, and then a gentle snoring filled the cave along with Luke’s soft laughter.

“Sweet dreams,” he murmured, the way his Aunt Beru always had when he was small. She still did, who was he kidding. Luke rolled onto his side, tucked the pack under his head, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Hopefully, their odds would look better in the suns’ light.

—

Luke startled out of a deep sleep full of odd dreams of Stormtroopers and forest moons and cities in the clouds. He flexed his right hand and wiggled its tingling fingers as he shook himself free of the sound of a Hutt’s laughter. Slowly he became aware of the hard ground under him and the chill of a desert cave in the middle of the night, and the faint sounds of distress from somewhere off to his left, and Luke realized what had woken him.

“Um, you okay?” he asked softly.

The Mandalorian hissed in pain. “Been better,” he said.

“I can bring you more bacta,” said Luke. He was already pulling it out of his bag. “If you steer me there.”

“Can’t get to my helmet,” said the Mandalorian. Luke figured that was a rebuff, so he was surprised when the Mandalorian added, “Figure it out yourself.”

Luke sniffed. “Fine,” he said. He grabbed his pack and pointed himself toward the Mandalorian’s voice. “Could you talk? So I can follow your voice.”

“What the hell do you want me to say?” the Mandalorian said incredulously. “Sing you a lullaby?”

“I can keep the bacta, you know.”

“For the love of—alright.” The Mandalorian heaved a deep sigh. “Did you, uh, grow up here?” He sounded uncomfortable, like he’d never made small talk before. Luke figured he probably didn’t do it often outside shaking someone down for information, and he didn't think the Mandalorian had pleasant chats with his bounties.

“Unfortunately,” said Luke. He started crawling toward the Mandalorian’s voice and the sound of his rough breathing. “Lived here my whole life. My parents died when I was a baby and my aunt and uncle raised me.”

“Ah.” The Mandalorian said nothing for a moment. “My parents also died when I was young,” he offered. “The Mandalorians took me in. I am a Foundling.”

“What’s a Foundling?” asked Luke, inching closer.

“An orphan,” said the Mandalorian. “Either by death or abandonment, or a child freed of slavery.”

“Oh.” Luke paused for a moment. “Would that make me a Foundling?”

The Mandalorian grunted. “You were orphaned and taken in," he said. "Yes, you would be a Foundling.”

Luke’s hand bumped into the Mandalorian’s foot. “Oh hey, I found _you,_ ” he said in triumph, gripping the Mandalorian’s ankle and feeling his way along his leg to where he was sitting up against the wall of the cave. When his hand found the Mandalorian’s muscled thigh Luke immediately jerked away.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s alright.” The Mandalorian’s voice was equally gentle. A hand found Luke’s in the dark. “The pain’s here.” He pressed Luke’s palm to his side, where his shirt was damp and warm.

_Shit._

“You’re bleeding,” said Luke, throat tight. "There—there's a lot of it."

“I know,” said the Mandalorian. “I can’t tell the size of the wound.”

Luke carefully lifted the Mandalorian’s shirt and traced his fingers over slick skin until he found the edge of a tear in it. The Mandalorian hissed, and Luke quickly pulled his hand away.

“Look,” said Luke. “I need light to be able to see this. Where’s your helmet?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” the Mandalorian said quietly. “I think I kicked it in my sleep. I was moving around a lot.”

“Great.” Luke sighed. He wanted to give the Mandalorian a reassuring smile but settled for a gentle voice. “Listen, I won’t tell anyone.”

The Mandalorian snorted. “That means nothing,” he snapped. “ _I_ would know.”

“What happens if you take it off?” asked Luke.

“You can’t put it back on,” said the Mandalorian. “Ever again.”

Luke was incredulous. "So they kick you out of your religion?”

“Yes.”

Luke was incredulous. “That’s a load of banthashit,” he said. “What good’s a religion that abandons you the minute you make a mistake? It’s not even a _mistake_ , it’s so you _don’t die._ ”

The Mandalorian was silent. Luke immediately regretted his outburst.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just—you don’t deserve to suffer like this.”

“This is the Way.”

Luke frowned. “What is the way?” he asked. “What way?”

“The Way of the Mandalore,” said the Mandalorian. “The Creed.”

“Oh.” Luke shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what it’s like to believe in something like that, but I do know that if I don’t fix this wound, it’s going to bleed out or get infected and it’ll kill you!”

The Mandalorian sighed. “I can’t…” Luke heard him swallow. “It goes against _everything_ I’ve been taught, things I’ve believed in for longer than you’ve been alive.”

“I _get_ that,” said Luke, exasperated. “But ask yourself this: would your people _really_ disown you or whatever if it was to save your own life?”

The Mandalorian said nothing.

“For fuck’s sake,” muttered Luke. “Here.” He felt around for his bag and found the little blanket. He shoved it at the Mandalorian. “Put that around your head, if you have to.”

The Mandalorian took the blanket and Luke waited patiently for him to reach up and awkwardly wrap it around himself. When the Mandalorian stilled, Luke felt around for the light.

“Ready?” he asked, finger on the switch. “Tell me when.”

“Mm.”

Luke took that was a _yes_ and snapped on the light. His lips parted in shock.

The Mandalorian had tossed the blanket aside and was looking back at him with the saddest eyes Luke had ever seen. His nose was broad and distinctive with the attempt of a mustache beneath it, carefully curated for no one else’s eyes but the Mandalorian’s, which was terribly endearing. His hair was slightly curly and disheveled, and his plush mouth was drawn into a crooked line. He looked tired.

 _This guy’s no more than maybe thirty,_ Luke thought, _but he looks like he’s lived a hundred lives already._ The dried blood at his hairline didn’t help.

Crazily, Luke wanted nothing more than to _hug_ him.

“Um.” He winced. _Smooth, Skywalker_. “Hello.”

“Hello.” The Mandalorian fidgeted with obvious discomfort. He looked bewildered, maybe as much as Luke felt if not more. “I…”

“It’s fine.” Luke said with a nod. “You have your reasons.”

“ _I trust you_ ,” the Mandalorian blurted. “And I don’t know _why_. You’re just some desert kid.” He swallowed. “I’ve _never_ wanted to take it off before. I don’t understand why I’ve done it for _you_.”

They couldn't look away from each other. Luke drank in the Mandalorian's face. He knew how precious was the gift he'd been given.

“I trust you, too,” said Luke. “I’m not afraid of you at all.” He was shocked by the truth behind that statement. “I don’t know why, either.”

The Mandalorian’s eyes burned like candlelight. “In the morning I can help you get home,” he said. “I owe you.”

“I’d appreciate that, but I want to make sure you know that’s not why I’m doing this,” said Luke. He made a face. “Okay, that’s _part_ of the reason I’m helping you. But the main reason is that _you need help_.”

“You don’t find a lot of that in the galaxy these days," said the Mandalorian. "Not used to that."

“You find it _here_ ,” said Luke. “In this stupid cave on the worst planet you could get stranded on.”

“Not stranded. I have a ship,” said the Mandalorian. “It’s not far. We could take it back to your farm.”

Luke nodded with a broad grin. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, but the words trailed off when the Mandalorian stared at him. “What?”

“You smile a lot,” he said quietly. “I don’t see that much, either. Most of the people I meet aren’t happy to see me.”

“I am,” said Luke. “Nice to put a face to the person whose life I’m trying to save.” He turned back to the wound, pulling up the Mandalorian’s shirt and trying to hold it in place while he opened a sterilization wipe.

“Could you keep your shirt out of the way?” he asked. “Just hold it up so I can see.”

The Mandalorian wordlessly pulled his shirt completely off and cast it aside. Luke’s eyes widened at all the desert-brown skin suddenly on display. The Mandalorian had a lot of scars on his arms and shoulders—little ones and some worrisome big ones. He also had a lot of freckles, some in clusters, some scattered across his shoulders like a galaxy.

Luke finally had to admit to himself that he wanted to taste _all of them_.

 _I’ve had this dream before_ , he thought. Not the same situation exactly, but Luke Skywalker was a hopeless romantic and one of his favorite daydreams was of him rescuing someone and being rewarded with a passionate kiss. Or more—he was only human. He’d never imagined _stranded-in-a-cave-with-a-handsome-Mandalorian,_ but he knew that it would be on regular rotation once he got home. The chest in front of him alone would fuel a _lot_ of nighttime fantasies.

“Or you could do that,” he said, struggling to focus strictly on the wound as he gently swabbed it clean. It was a long slice, the kind made by a jagged rock that got lucky and caught the Mandalorian in between the beskar, but it wasn’t deep. It was still bleeding sluggishly, but at least now it was clean.

Luke pulled out a laser cauterizer; one too many tumbles from a moving speeder had prompted Uncle Owen to outfit Luke with one, something he’d bristled at when he was younger but was extremely grateful for now.

“This is gonna hurt like hell,” said Luke. “You probably know that.”

“Yep,” said the Mandalorian. “Just get it over with.”

“Try not to scream,” said Luke, pressing the cauterizer to the wound and giving it a zap. The Mandalorian jumped and ground out a curse under his breath.

Luke paused. “Ok?”

“Keep going,” said the Mandalorian. Luke gave him another zap, but this time there only a soft grunt.

 _He’s learned to suffer in silence_ , thought Luke, feeling sick as he carefully cauterized the wound. _What the hell kind of life has this guy had?_

“Almost done,” said Luke. “I can put bacta on it and a bandage.”

“Whatever,” said the Mandalorian. “Just—hurry _up_.”

“Got it.” Luke quickly finished up and used another wipe to clean away the remaining blood. He grabbed the bacta spray and doused his handiwork, eliciting a deep sigh from the Mandalorian as the bacta chased off the pain and sealed the wound. Luke attached a bandage and gave the whole thing a gentle pat when he finished.

“Done,” he murmured. He glanced up at the Mandalorian and was met with the most heartbreaking look of gratitude he’d ever been given. The Mandalorian’s mouth maintained its neutral line, but his eyes were round and trained on Luke like a searchlight. Luke wondered if he’d ever bothered to school his expressions behind the helmet, if he just didn’t realize that Luke could see what his face was doing.

“Are—are you okay?” asked Luke.

The Mandalorian inhaled sharply. His shoulders slumped. “No.”

Luke touched his arm with two fingers. “What is it?” he asked softly.

The Mandalorian looked down at Luke’s hand. “No one—” the Mandalorian cut himself off, but Luke didn't need him to finish the sentence.

“Has no one ever done this for you?” asked Luke, a little horrified. “Has no one ever helped you when you’re hurt?”

The Mandalorian shrugged, then slowly shook his head. “Not in years,” he mumbled. “I just deal with it myself.”

“That’s awful.” Luke squeezed the Mandalorian’s forearm. “And lonely. I’m glad I could help you, friend.”

“Mm.” The Mandalorian was still looking at Luke’s hand. Luke jerked it away, embarrassed.

“Sorry, I—” He was cut off by the Mandalorian reaching for his hand and gently grasping it. “Uh?”

“Thank you.” said the Mandalorian. “For saving my life.”

“Well, of course I saved your life,” said Luke. "Not gonna let you die, not on my watch." He swallowed and carefully laced their fingers together. The Mandalorian seemed fascinated by their hands for a long moment, running the side of his thumb against Luke’s knuckles. Were he not already sitting on the cave floor, the gesture would have brought Luke to his knees.

Then the Mandalorian looked at Luke, who squirmed under that intense focus.

 _What are we doing?_ he wondered, a little hysterically. _Is something happening right now? I don’t—_

The Mandalorian kissed him.

“Mmf!” Luke jumped, startled. The Mandalorian pulled away quickly, eyes full of the same bewilderment he'd worn when Luke had turned on the light.

“Sorry.” The Mandalorian whispered hastily. “I—I don’t know why I did that.” He sounded _miserable_ , which Luke understood; the Mandalorian had abandoned his Creed in a Tatooine cave for a kid with nothing to offer him but bacta patches and ration bars, and he didn't know _why_. “I wanted to, and I just…”

“Hey, not complaining.” Luke licked his lips and the Mandalorian tracked the movement of Luke’s tongue with the precision of a professional hunter. Luke shivered. “You could do it again.” _Yes, please do it again._

As though he had been waiting for permission, the Mandalorian pulled Luke closer, closer, closer, until their mouths met again. Luke was flying blind; in that he’d never actually kissed anyone. Who was he going to kiss? He lived in the Wastes and the closest hub was Anchorhead, and he didn’t want to kiss anyone there. There were few prospects for a gay desert kid; Luke was very good friends with his left hand and that was the extent of his experience.

He was embarrassed about it for half a second until it became apparent that the Mandalorian hadn’t done it before either and his movements were as clumsy as Luke's. They mouthed at each other like fish.

Luke began to laugh softly.

The Mandalorian pulled back. “Sorry,” he murmured. “New at this.”

“I get it.” Luke reached up and thumbed the Mandalorian’s chin. “You don’t get out much.”

The Mandalorian took a deep breath. “I’ve—I mean, there’s been some favors, sometimes."

Luke nodded. "How did that work?"

"I know what I’m doing with my hands," said the Mandalorian, "and a lot of people have a…thing for helmets. It's never been an issue.”

“Okay,” said Luke. He had no idea how to interpret _thing for helmets_. “I guess that works.”

“I don’t ask questions,” said the Mandalorian. He touched Luke’s face with the tips of his fingers. “I don't understand how I feel right now."

“Can you describe it?” asked Luke, leaning into the touch and closing his eyes.

“No,” said the Mandalorian. “Look at me.”

Luke opened his eyes, puzzled, and looked into the Mandalorian’s. He saw the conflict in them, but also something else. Something darker that made the hair on the back of Luke’s neck stand up. He felt tension in the air; the cave thrummed with it.

“Please,” said the Mandalorian. “I—”

“Way ahead of you,” said Luke, diving in for another kiss. The Mandalorian wrapped both hands around Luke’s waist, then slid them up over his back and up into his hair. Luke squirmed; he hadn’t known he liked hands in his hair, but now he did. He wondered what else he was about to discover about himself. The Mandalorian pulled Luke into his lap with a soft hiss as it jarred his injury, but before Luke could protest there was a mouth kissing a warm, wet line along Luke’s throat.

“Someone’s at least _seen_ some shit,” said Luke amusedly, arching his neck into the Mandalorian’s wonderful mouth. “What holos have _you_ been watching?”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Some of the taverns in Wild Space have live shows,” he said. “Good place to do business." The Mandalorian’s hand slipped under Luke’s shirt and pinched his nipple. Luke gasped.

“So we’re doing this?” he asked breathlessly.

“Looks like it,” said the Mandalorian.

“Great!” Luke pulled off his tunic and tossed it away. The cave was chilly, but the Mandalorian burned like a brand against Luke’s skin. Broad hands settled on his back, the Mandalorian clearly soaking up the skin-to-skin contact as he palmed Luke’s spine, trailing fingers along the ridge. Luke let him touch as much as he wanted to.

“I can make this even better,” said Luke, shaking under ghost-light touches along his sides. “If you let me go for a minute.”

The Mandalorian made a grumpy noise but reluctantly released him. Luke promptly shimmied out of his pants and flung them in the same general direction of his shirt. He knelt in front of the Mandalorian and was caught up in his inscrutable stare.

“I have seen a lot of things over the years,” said the Mandalorian reverently, reaching out and dragging a finger alone the line of Luke’s collarbone. “Nothing like you.”

Luke beamed. “Nothin’ like me anywhere else in the galaxy,” he said. The Mandalorian snorted. “What?”

“You’re not wrong.” He slid his hand up Luke’s arm and palmed the side of his throat. “You’ll let me have you?”

Luke nodded eagerly. “Pretty on board with any plans you’ve got, my friend.”

The Mandalorian made a guttural noise that settled between Luke’s legs and _burned_. Luke whined and leaned in for another kiss, catching the Mandalorian’s mouth with his and licking at the seam of his lips until they opened for him. Luke climbed—carefully, the bacta worked fast but not that fast—into the Mandalorian’s lap and skated the backs of his knuckles down that lightly furred chest, danced his fingers over a stomach hardened by carrying several pounds of armor around every day for decades. Luke sighed giddily and dropped his hands to the fasten of the Mandalorian’s pants.

“Wait,” said the Mandalorian. Luke jerked his hand back but the Mandalorian only laughed. “I meant, let me help.”

“Oh.” Luke let the Mandalorian take his hands and put them back on the fastens. He loosely held Luke’s wrists as he flipped open the catches and tugged the Mandalorian’s pants open and down.

Luke swallowed, his mouth watering.

 _Well, there’s an interesting response to the sight of a man’s dick,_ he thought. He’d of course seen plenty of naked beings in Biggs’s more interesting holos, but he’d never had such a physical reaction to anything in them. Apparently Luke’s brain and body needed the real deal to make it worth the effort.

Or maybe it was specifically the Mandalorian himself. Both, probably.

“Fuck,” he said eloquently.

The Mandalorian huffed. “That the plan?" he asked. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Luke brightened. “Well.” He reached for his pack and felt around. “I thought I had—yeah.” He pulled out a little jar. “Uh, this is for windburn,” he said. “It’s made from japor tree sap. You can use it, uh. _Anywhere_.” He made a vaguely obscene gesture. “At least everybody know uses it for that.”

The Mandalorian plucked the jar out of Luke’s hand. “How convenient that you happen to have it with you,” he said wryly, inspecting it. “Do you often fuck strangers in caves?”

“I do _not_ ,” said Luke, affronted. “It’s standard in every survival pack! It’s a desert planet! It’s dry and I have sensitive skin, dammit.”

The Mandalorian laughed—for real this time, hearty and thick, the sound echoing in the cavern. It was only the second time he’d laughed since Luke had entered the cave and the longest laugh he’d been given. He felt like he’d been blessed.

“Here,” he said. “Lift up.” The Mandalorian grunted and shifted, allowing Luke to work his pants the rest of the way off. They joined his own clothes on the cave floor. “Better.”

The Mandalorian rolled the jar around in his hand. “You’ve never done this before, have you.”

“But you have,” said Luke.

"Like I said, there have been favors," he said, hands resting loosely at Luke’s hips. “But always with the helmet on. This...is a first.”

“Oh.” Luke blinked. “Well.” He didn’t think he could have gotten more turned on but, well, here he was. “Glad to be a new experience.”

“Yep.” He reached both hands behind Luke’s back and Luke could tell he was opening the little jar. “Hm. Smells…interesting.” The Mandalorian brought his hand—a dollop of blue on his fingers—up to his nose and gave it a sniff. “Not bad. Just not anything I know.”

“It’s just goo from weird trees,” said Luke. He wriggled. “Would you just—”

“Calm down.” The Mandalorian rolled his eyes, leaning up and reaching behind Luke. “We've got time,” he murmured into Luke’s ear, his lips grazing the lobe. Luke felt the first tentative touch of cool, slick and curious fingers inching inside and let his head fall back. He shuddered as he felt something at the back of his mind, a sense of being in the right place at the right time. What were the odds he’d find a wounded Mandalorian in the exact place his speeder broke down? What were the odds he’d have medpac in his bag, or that he’d had the sense to grab before running for his life? Why did he trust the Mandalorian so easily, and why did _he_ trust _Luke_?

He felt a ripple in his thoughts. He couldn’t name it; he could only open himself up to it the same way he opened up to the Mandalorian. In between jolts of pleasure Luke felt like the mechanism of a lock being coaxed open by a thief's hands, cylinders turning and sliding into place. Luke didn’t know how _fucking a stranger in a cave_ could be a spiritual experience, but he was apparently having one and he decided to roll with it.

It didn't help that the Mandalorian had discovered all his sweet spots and was making sure Luke knew about each one. A jolt of _yes_ rocketed through Luke at escape velocity.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, hoping the Mandalorian could translate everything he meant by that one word.

"Got it," said the Mandalorian. He withdrew his fingers and gripped Luke’s hips with both hands to arrange him where he seemed to want him. Luke went willingly, letting the Mandalorian settle Luke’s legs on either side of his thighs.

“Okay?” asked the Mandalorian. “You can still back out.” He fixed those blasted eyes on Luke, who felt like he was cornered by the Sand People all over again. No gaffi sticks swinging at his head, but he felt like he’d taken a hit from one all the same. The cave around them spun like a top and he scarcely knew how to breathe anymore. He was so _nervous._

“Luke?”

It was the first time the Mandalorian had spoken Luke’s name and it drew a noise out of Luke that he’d never made before. He lunged for a kiss that knocked the Mandalorian off-guard and almost toppled them both over. The Mandalorian caught himself and righted them again, holding Luke’s waist with those soft hands. He met Luke kiss for kiss.

“Okay,” said Luke into the Mandalorian’s mouth. “Do—just, _yes_.”

The Mandalorian pulled away and nodded. He lifted Luke up, made some adjustments, and guided him down.

_Huh._

“Easy,” said the Mandalorian. Luke shivered in his hands. “You got it. Relax.”

Luke forced himself to keep his eyes open and trained on the Mandalorian’s, who met his gaze unrelenting as their bodies slowly connected. _How do I relax when I have this?_ he wondered. _How can I let go with him looking at me like that?_

“Luke,” said the Mandalorian, hands tightening on Luke’s hips. “You—” He grunted as Luke sank down a little more, muttering in the language Luke had heard him use before.

“What is that?” asked Luke breathlessly. “What did you say?”

“Ask me again later,” said the Mandalorian, voice strangled. “I’m _busy_.”

Luke laughed a little then inhaled sharply when the Mandalorian drew him down a little more. “This is—too slow," he said with a wriggle that made him gasp. The Mandalorian stiffened and his grip on Luke turned almost painful.

“Any faster and it won’t happen at all,” said the Mandalorian. “You’ll— _fuck._ ”

“I’m _trying_ to,” whined Luke. He spread his legs a little wider and took a deep breath and chased that feeling from before, the weird sense that _something_ had led him here, to this cave and this man. Once he caught that feeling, like catching a glowfly in his hands, he clung to it and followed it. It led him from the sound of his own breathing and his frantic heartbeat in his ears to something else; another heartbeat next to his and lust that was too strong to belong to just him.

_What the—_

Before Luke could finish the thought the Mandalorian let him slide all the way down until their bodies were flush together. Luke gasped so loudly that the Mandalorian put a shaking hand over his mouth.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “We have to be _quiet._ ”

Luke nodded, and the Mandalorian dropped his hand. He tipped his head forward and Luke, on instinct, followed suit. Their foreheads collided and Luke winced. The Mandalorian inhaled sharply but did not move.

“It feels—” Luke began, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say. They were so _close_.

“Yeah.” The Mandalorian shifted slightly and Luke made a truly embarrassing noise that he tried valiantly to stifle. “I said _quiet,_ ” the Mandalorian said sharply.

“Right, sorry.”

The Mandalorian lifted Luke up slightly and brought him back down with a groan Luke could feel. He echoed it; he felt it in his toes.

"Like that," said the Mandalorian. He did it again and Luke saw stars. "You got it?"

"Got it," said Luke. He began to move, using his legs to lift himself up—aided by the Mandalorian’s hands on him—and rock back down. It was awkward at first; Luke’s movements were shaky as he concentrated on not coming _immediately_.

 _Make it last_ , he thought to himself as they slowly found a rhythm. _Make it worth it to him, worth showing you all of himself._

“ _Fuck_.” The Mandalorian’s jaw worked, flexing as he moved with Luke’s body. “Luke—”

Luke groaned. “Me too,” he said roughly. He didn't know what he was agreeing to, he just knew he felt whatever it was _wholeheartedly._ He forced his eyes open and tucked his thumb under the Mandalorian’s chin, lifting his head so their eyes could meet, and he was jolted by that persistent sense of _yes, this._ _He wasn’t in love, but he now understood the potential of it. The promise_ _._

Luke leaned in and pressed his mouth to the Mandalorian’s jugular. “You good?”

“Yeah,” panted the Mandalorian. He clutched at Luke’s hips. "I—” The beat of Din's hips became choppy and uneven.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he mumbled in the Mandalorian’s ear. "Go for it."

The Mandalorian made a sound like a wounded animal and gathered Luke in his arms, pitching them both to the side and rolling onto their discarded clothes. Luke gasped when his back hit the ground; he knew it had to have hurt the Mandalorian to move like that, but he seemed unaffected as he lifted Luke’s legs up and apart and reconnected their bodies again. He attempted to establish the same rhythm from before but didn't have much luck. The Mandalorian’s thrusts stuttered, his breathing more frantic.

Luke reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes, and with a soft cry the Mandalorian groaned and bent his body over Luke’s, kissing whatever he could reach: cheek, forehead, temple, eyebrow, nose, chin, and finally, mouth. Luke kissed back desperately and hooked his legs around him, keeping him close.

Eventually, the Mandalorian leaned back, panting, and gazed at Luke in wonder. His face was a curious mixture of satisfaction and surprise. Luke offered him a hopeful—if a little strained, he was still hard and felt very exposed—smile.

"Alright?"

"Yeah," said the Mandalorian, dazed. "I'm—fine."

Luke nodded. He waited patiently until the Mandalorian could catch his breath before clearing his throat.

“…my turn?” Luke asked hopefully.

“ _Yes_.” The Mandalorian slid down Luke’s body and Luke was overwhelmed by the sensation of wet warmth and the swipe of a tongue. He squawked a lot louder than he should have and the Mandalorian instantly pulled off and grabbed one of Luke’s hands, slapping it over Luke's own mouth.

“ _Quiet_ ,” he said, before descending again.

To be safe, Luke kept _both_ hands over his mouth. Despite his efforts he couldn't help but make high-pitched keening sounds in his throat as the Mandalorian clumsily but enthusiastically sucked hm off. It was sloppy and inelegant, the occasional nip of a tooth, but Luke was _not_ about to complain about technique. It was his very first blowjob and he knew without question that it would always be the best one he would ever have.

It also didn’t take long, which Luke could be embarrassed about later. He came for what felt like _days_ before his body turned loose and rubbery, like he was sinking into the cave floor. By the time the Mandalorian pulled off satisfaction buzzed in Luke’s veins, his brain was probably permanently offline, and he felt like a million credits.

The Mandalorian straightened up and thumbed a tell-tale smear at the corner of his own mouth. He looked at Luke with uncertainty. "Uh, so, obviously I’ve never—”

“It was great,” said Luke breathlessly. “Excellent work.” He gave the Mandalorian a thumbs-up, earning another laugh—Luke was beginning to love that sound—as the Mandalorian knocked his hand down.

“Glad I passed muster,” he said, voice as dry as the Wastes. He winced and sat to the side, arms resting on his bare knees. “Huh.”

“Huh.” Luke should have protested at the rather odd post-sex reaction, but the truth was that he was as baffled as the Mandalorian was that it had happened at all. "Well."

“Yep.” The Mandalorian looked down at the bandage on his side. “This doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said, tapping it.

“Good,” said Luke. “I’m a pretty good nurse.”

The Mandalorian smiled at him, crooked but sincere. His hair was a _mess_ , so Luke reached out and reordered it with his hands. The Mandalorian sat still and allowed it, and to Luke it felt strangely more intimate than what they'd just done.

“I knew you were handsome,” said Luke, grinning. The Mandalorian’s cheeks turned a little pink and Luke laughed in delight. “A blushing Mandalorian?”

“Fuck off,” muttered the Mandalorian. “It’s not something I usually have to worry about.”

“You make all kinds of faces under your helmet,” said Luke. “I know because I can see you making them now. You’re not used to someone seeing.”

The Mandalorian hesitated. “I...stick out my tongue a lot," he said with a little chuckle.

Luke laughed. “Show me.” The Mandalorian scowled but did, but before he could close his mouth Luke leaned in and licked at it. They kissed lazily for several minutes, then the Mandalorian twisted around and lay his head on Luke's bare thigh with a long, weary sigh.

Luke was surprised by the vulnerability the Mandalorian was showing him but kept it to himself as he carefully stroked the thin hair at the Mandalorian’s temple—brown flecked with a hint of grey.

“Where do you go from here?” asked Luke. “Once you take me home?” He dreaded the answer, but it was time to find out what happened outside the cave.

The Mandalorian shrugged. “I finished the job I was here to do,” he said. “I’m going back to Nevarro tomorrow.”

“Where is that?” asked Luke, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. _You knew he wasn’t going to stay on Tatooine_ , he scolded himself. _Nobody would voluntarily stay here, especially a Mandalorian, and especially for_ your _dumb ass._ It was a depressing thought and Luke forced it from his mind. He focused instead on the beautiful man in his lap.

The Mandalorian held up a hand. “Here’s the core,” he said, pointing at nothing. He moved his arm to the right and down. “Here’s Tatooine.”

“Right.” Luke knew where his own damn planet was. “Got that.”

The Mandalorian swung his arm sharply up and wide to the right, up past Mon Calamari, beyond anywhere Luke’s heard of. “Here’s Nevarro.”

“Oh.” That was far away, too far for Luke to get there in anything he could boost from the Anchorhead shipyard. “Do you, uh, come back to Tatooine a lot?”

“Yes,” said the Mandalorian. “I do a lot of business in Mos Eisley.”

“My aunt forbade me from going there,” said Luke. "Said if I did she'd never see me again."

“She's right.” The Mandalorian turned his head and nosed at Luke’s bare thigh. “It’s not a nice place.”

“I’m not a nice man,” said Luke, drawing another laugh from the Mandalorian. “What?”

“Sorry,” said the Mandalorian. “Yes, you’re not a nice man.”

Luke scowled. “I’m really not,” he insisted. “I killed a Tusken yesterday.”

“And you saved the life of a stranger,” said the Mandalorian. Luke felt the smile. “And then fucked him in a cave. Weird way of not being nice.”

Luke's face burned, but he smiled anyway. "I’d really like it if you stayed,” he said in a quiet voice.

The Mandalorian reached up and grasped Luke’s hand.

“You’ll forget about me,” he said, voice as rough as a sandstorm. “And I don’t think you’re going to stay on this rock long enough for me to come back. No one like you can stay hidden for long.”

Luke snorted. “I’m not going anywhere, if my uncle has anything to say about it. He’s been keeping me on the damn farm far longer than I should have been. I should be at the Academy by now.”

“Academy, huh?” The Mandalorian rolled onto his back and looked up at Luke. “Going to be a pilot?”

“Yup.” Luke nodded. “I’m not bad now but imagine what I’ll be like with real _training_.”

“A force to be reckoned with,” said the Mandalorian. He yawned like a loth-cat. “The first sun will rise soon. We should attempt to sleep.”

“Right.” Luke shifted and made a face. “Uh.”

The Mandalorian smirked and reached into Luke’s pack, pulling out another sterilizing wipe. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Luke. “Have fun with that.”

“I should make you do it,” muttered Luke as he unceremoniously dumped the Mandalorian on the floor and left him laughing as Luke slipped deeper into the darkness of the cave to clean himself up in peace.

—

They slept on the pile of clothes together, the Mandalorian curled around Luke’s body protectively, a thing Luke didn’t even know he’d wanted and now wondered how he’d ever do without again. He lay awake, listening to gentle snoring, unable to shake a persistent instinct that told him that the Mandalorian was _important_ to him—or _would_ be, one day—even if Luke couldn’t see why just yet. Whatever it was between them that had manifested in a desperate coupling burned at the back of Luke’s mind and refused to leave him alone. Much like the memory of the way the Mandalorian’s eyes had stayed on Luke the entire time.

Luke wanted desperately to twist around and look at the Mandalorian’s face before it was swallowed up by the helmet in the morning, but Luke didn’t dare wake him. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to imagine it: the distinctive nose, the scruff that had felt good against his thighs, the lopsided _smile_ that made Luke want to start and end a thousand wars.

He could never tell anyone what he'd done—Luke would never break the Mandalorian’s confidence like that—but he desperately wanted to tell _someone_ that he’d slept with one of the deadliest warriors in the galaxy. Trapper and Dosmit would never hassle him again.

Luke thought about what the Mandalorian had said: _I trust you._ It was an admission Luke knew did not come lightly. Mandalorians were not known for showing weakness in any way, not in appearance nor in demeanor. They were stoic, serious creatures, mostly faceless, all of them deadly.

 _This one, though_ , thought Luke. He remembered what the Mandalorian had said: _no one like you can stay hidden for long_. The Mandalorian had known Luke for only a few hours and seemed to have more faith in him than Uncle Owen did. Luke scowled.

 _I’m tired of wasting my life,_ _he thought. I could have something_ more _than condensers and womp rat target practice. I could be a real hero if someone only gave me the chance._ The Mandalorian snuffled in his sleep and Luke held his breath for a moment before sighing. _He thinks I’ll get off this rock. I want to believe him._

There was an old hermit who lived near Luke, who he bumped into now and then while out exploring, who had once told him there was a fundamental truth to growing up on Tatooine that he must always remember: _if you come from nothing, the only thing left to do is_ something _._

 _I’m going to ask Uncle Owen about the Academy again tomorrow,_ he thought. _It’s time._

With that thought Luke felt strong, warm arms wrap around him from behind and he fell asleep wondering how a farm boy from the ass-end of Tatooine could get so lucky.

—

Luke woke to the sound of armor snapping back into place and groaned. He didn’t open his eyes; he wanted to commit to memory the face of the Mandalorian, the one who had bared himself to Luke in the quiet of the night. He needed to memorize everything he’d read in those leather-brown eyes; they’d told him stories in a language Luke desperately wanted to understand. He wanted to remember this fearsome warrior who had the same kind, sad eyes of a bantha, who was nearly undone by kind hands patching him up.

Luke tried not to smile at that; he was too devastated to smile. He squeezed his eyes shut until they hurt and thought of that face until he knew he’d never forget it.

“Luke.” The Mandalorian’s modulated voice echoed in the cave. “It’s time to go.”

“Yeah, okay.” Luke kept his back to him as he stood, still naked. He stretched and scratched his belly before fishing his clothes off the floor and putting them on mechanically. He refused to look up as he gathered his things and shoved everything back into his bag, looping it around his body. He picked up his rifle. “Ready.”

The Mandalorian had not moved for the entire time Luke was getting ready. Luke did not turn around, even when he felt the air change around him. A gloved hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Please look at me,” whispered the Mandalorian. Luke’s heart broke at the ache in his voice, and he couldn’t _not_ turn around. He looked up at the helmet, the familiar visor. He tried to imagine the face underneath and was alarmed to find the memory had already faded a little. _Please, no,_ he thought frantically. _Please don’t let me forget._

Luke looked away. “Sorry,” he said. “Just—I got used to _you_.”

“This is also _me_ ,” said the Mandalorian patiently. “I thought about what you said, and—I don't think I can leave behind everything I was raised to believe, so this is always going to be a part of me. I will always wear my armor.”

Luke nodded. “I understand,” he said, stomach sinking.

“But,” said the Mandalorian, hedging a little. “I think there could be, uh, exceptions.”

Luke perked up. “Maybe you’ll visit, then?” he asked, cautiously hopeful.

The Mandalorian tilted Luke’s face up, then tipped their foreheads together. He murmured something in the same strange language Luke had heard throughout the night.

“What _is_ that?” he asked. “The words you’re saying.”

“The language of Mandalore.” The Mandalorian murmured something else. The words spilled from his mechanical voice like music. “I’m not telling you what I’m saying.”

Luke did laugh that time. “Keeping secrets?”

“Not as many as you think.” The Mandalorian seemed to be studying Luke, who couldn’t tell and that was more frustrating than haggling with the Jawas. “Luke?”

“Yes?”

“We need to go,” said the Mandalorian. Luke slumped just a little, but noticeably. The Mandalorian let his hand slide from Luke’s shoulder and he picked up the rifle, jetpack already in place. Luke swallowed and ducked his head as he followed the Mandalorian out of the cave.

Both suns were up, and the heat was already stifling as Luke and the Mandalorian quickly made their way back to where Luke’s speeder had been. Sure enough, there was very little left of the thing beyond a few scattered nuts and bolts and wires on the ground. Luke sighed.

“That wasn’t my speeder, technically,” he said. “It was a friend’s. She's gonna kick my ass when I get back.”

“Not if you show up with me,” said the Mandalorian. “Do you need me to make an appearance? I am very intimidating.”

“Yes, you are,” Luke rapped his knuckles against the Mandalorian’s beskar chest. “I like that in a fella.”

“Lucky me,” mused the Mandalorian. “We’re going to have to get to my ship. It’s about a mile west.”

“Right through the thickest settlement of Sand People,” groaned Luke. “We’ll have to go north, then west and then south again.”

The Mandalorian looked at Luke, then tucked his own rifle in its holster at his back. Then he wordlessly took Luke’s rifle and stowed it as well.

“What—hey!” Luke yelped as he was unceremoniously removed from the ground. With a roar they began to climb up, up, up into the air. “Holy—”

“Just hold on,” said the Mandalorian, one strong arm looped around Luke’s back, clutching him tightly. “Don’t do anything stupid like letting go.”

“ _Not a problem_ ,” shouted Luke over the roar of the jetpack. He tried to shut his eyes as they soared over the Sand People encampments, the residents shaking their gaffi sticks at them as they passed over, but it was just too much _fun_. Luke whooped as they crossed the dunes and laughed when the Mandalorian did a completely unnecessary loop as they came in for a landing next to what Luke assumed was the Mandalorian’s ship.

“Thanks for the ride,” said Luke, staggering a little on solid ground. “Not used to not having a ship around me when I do that.”

The Mandalorian snickered. “More fun without one, sometimes.”

Luke looked up at the gunship. “She’s a looker," he said. “Are you holding it together with tape and hope?”

“Yes,” said the Mandalorian, patting her side fondly. “She’s good in a fight, though. She flies well.”

It was true that she didn’t look like much, but Luke felt a distinct sense of _home_ when he gazed at the Mandalorian’s ship. It wasn’t _his_ home, but he somehow understood that the Mandalorian didn’t think of anything _else_ as home the same way. Luke wanted to know more—how did he find the ship, what was her name—but he wasn’t stupid enough to think some strangely emotional cave sex entitled him to all of a person.

Luke kept his mouth shut instead and followed the Mandalorian into the ship.

—

“Can I fly?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

—

Uncle Owen was as expected displeased by Luke’s disappearance, but the relief on his face gave Luke hope that he wouldn't be in serious trouble.

“Where the hell have you been?” He barreled toward Luke, grabbing him by the arms and shaking him. “Your aunt is beside herself. We thought you’d been killed by the Sand People!”

“I was attacked by them,” said Luke. “But I got away. Got stranded in a cave overnight.”

“I _told_ you not to take that contraption out so far,” said Uncle Owen, though he seemed a little calmer. An honest explanation went a long way with him. “You’re alright, though?” he asked.

“Yes, Uncle Owen.” Luke pointed at the ship parked a few yards behind him. “I had help.”

On cue the Mandalorian emerged from his ship, shimmering like a mirage in the suns. He sauntered—Luke rolled his eyes—up to them and nodded at Uncle Owen, whose eyes were _huge_.

“This belong to you?” said the Mandalorian, nodding at Luke.

“Ah, yes.” Uncle Owen cleared his throat. “Uh, thank you, sir. Mister Mandalorian.”

Luke tried not to laugh. The Mandalorian didn’t acknowledge Uncle Owen’s nervousness, just grasped Luke by the back of the neck and shoved him forward a little. “Keep him on a leash, he doesn’t seem to get that you don’t go joyriding in Sand People territory.”

“ _All_ of Tatooine is Sand People territory!” said Luke, wishing he could knock the Mandalorian’s hand away, but _that_ would raise some eyebrows—Uncle Owen’s specifically—so he grit his teeth and put up with it. It was all a performance, anyway. Uncle Owen couldn’t know that Luke had gone and got a Mandalorian boyfriend.

Not really. But a guy could dream.

“You’re right, it is,” said the Mandalorian and Uncle Owen. They looked at each other. Luke pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well.” Uncle Owen cleared his throat and looked again at the Mandalorian. “Thank you, very much. For bringing him home. I can’t—I don’t have many credits, but—”

“No charge,” said the Mandalorian. “He’s a good man. Helped me out of a bind. We’re even.”

Owen looked at Luke. “We’ll be talking about this later,” he said sternly. “Go see your Aunt Beru, show her you’re still alive.”

“I’d like a moment,” said the Mandalorian, nodding his head toward Luke. “If you don’t mind.” His bounty hunter monotone was a far cry from the gentle voice he’d used with Luke, who shivered in anticipation.

“Ah, of course?” Uncle Owen shot Luke a funny look. “Be in before the second sun sets.”

“Yes, sir,” said Luke. “Won’t be a minute.”

Uncle Owen nodded and trudged back into the house. The Mandalorian watched him go, then grabbed Luke’s arm and frog-marched him until they were on the other side of the house and out of sight.

“What—” Luke was cut off when the Mandalorian yanked off his helmet and pulled Luke in for a deep, deep kiss. He shoved Luke against the stone wall of the house and kissed the air out of his lungs. He'd definitely learned a lot in the cave and was making sure Luke could never forget the taste of him, the slick slide of a tongue against his. All Luke could do was hold on.

After too short a moment but likely too long not to be suspicious, the Mandalorian pulled away. He licked his lips and gave Luke one last, heated look before he put his helmet back on.

Luke tried to remember how to blink.

“I wanted—a real goodbye,” said the Mandalorian. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. And you don’t know if you’ll still be here if I do.”

“Yes,” said Luke. “I understand.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “You should go.”

The Mandalorian nodded. He stepped away from Luke, and Luke watched the Mandalorian trudge across the sand to his ship. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

Luke held his breath.

The Mandalorian didn't look back. He walked up the ramp and disappeared into the ship.

The tightness in Luke’s throat threatened to choke him as the ship took off, and Luke waited until it was out of sight before he blinked eyes that were most certainly not wet and went inside to face his Aunt Beru.

—

The next day, Uncle Owen bought two droids from the Jawas.

—

_Nine years later…_

—

The Mandalorian stared at the screen and watched the mechanical carnage as the Jedi ripped their way through the Darktroopers. The Jedi moved with a destructive grace Din could never hope to achieve, in or out of armor. The Darktroopers that had given him so much hell fell to the Jedi’s blade like soft butter to a hot knife, with seemingly no effort on the part of the Jedi.

The strangest part was that the Mandalorian somehow _recognized_ that grace, but he didn't know how. The lightsaber swung with expertise that could have only been gleaned from years of training if not actual combat. He had thought Ahsoka was the most impressive warrior he'd ever met. Now he knew she wasn’t alone.

The Mandalorian swallowed as the Jedi crushed the last Darktrooper by simply making a fist. It was like nothing the Mandalorian had ever seen before. The destroyed trooper fell and the Jedi stepped over it to the lift and Din was left almost breathless. _Truly a powerful sorcerer_ , he thought. _They'll know how to help the kid._

Somehow, the Mandalorian felt it in his gut that this person, this Jedi, was the one who would save the Kid. It was a disconcerting feeling, to be so sure of something, as the Mandalorian had only felt so once before, a long time ago. He didn't like thinking about it, it only amplified his natural loneliness and sent the chill of regret down his spine, but something about the cloaked figure making its way toward them made him remember that same brand of conviction.

He _knew_ he could trust the Jedi. He _knew_.

The Kid looked up at him beseechingly and when the Mandalorian looked back he understood and picked him up.

“Open the doors,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” said Shand.

“I said, open the doors.”

When no one moved to do it the Mandalorian sighed and tapped a switch on the console. He put the Kid down on a nearby seat and watched warily as the ruined blast doors slid open and the Jedi entered the bridge on silent feet. The Mandalorian’s head spun with a bizarre sense of _recognition_ , except he didn’t know any Jedi other than Ahsoka. His gut twisted and turned like a hyperlane—the uneasy sense of hurtling toward something too fast without knowing what was going to be on the other end.

The Jedi hooked their lightsaber to their belt and tipped back their hood.

_Oh._

“Luke,” blurted the Mandalorian without thinking. The black clothes and neutral expression were nothing like that sweet, eager farm kid he'd met all those years ago in that Tatooine cave, but the Mandalorian would have recognized him anywhere. Those few hours had had a profound effect on him, to the point that whenever he went back to Tatooine he contemplated finding that farm again, looking for that kid and offering him a way out. He couldn't exactly say why he never went through with it, but the guilt he felt spoke volumes. Tatooine was never the same after that night. Now the Mandalorian stood staring at the man in front of him and trying to reconcile him with who he'd left behind.

"It's you," he said dumbly.

Luke offered him a wan little smile and nodded. “Hello again, Mandalorian,” he said. His voice was deeper now, measured and calm. It sent a shiver down the Mandalorian's spine.

“I...” The Mandalorian stumbled over his words. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” asked Luke, tilting his head curiously. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

The Mandalorian swallowed. “I—didn’t go back for you. I wanted to, I just..."

Luke smiled for real and the Mandalorian’s legs nearly buckled with relief. _There he is_.

“That’s alright,” said Luke. “I wasn’t there to go back to.”

"I think I knew you wouldn’t be," said the Mandalorian. "What are you doing here?"

Luke looked over at the Kid. “Your little one called for me.”

“So, you're a Jedi," said the Mandalorian. "You have...powers?"

“I always did,” said Luke. "I began training not long after I met you."

The Mandalorian frowned behind the helmet. “Did you use your powers on me that night?” he asked with unease that threatened to choke him.

“No,” said Luke quickly. “I didn’t know _anything_ about the Force, not then. Everything I felt for you was— _is_ —real. But I knew not to fear you. I knew to trust you, with my whole heart." Luke smiled softly. “Which I did.”

"I felt it too," said the Mandalorian. "I don't understand."

Luke nodded. "At first, I didn't either. But _something_ told me you were going to be very important to me. I didn't know why then, but I think I understand now, though. I was _meant_ to find you.”

“But you’re here for him,” said the Mandalorian. He looked at the Kid and his heart twisted. _All that work getting him to a Jedi,_ he thought, _and now I don’t want to give him up, even to Luke._

“You don’t have to," said Luke.

“What?” The Mandalorian looked at him, confused.

“I can feel your worry,” said Luke. The Mandalorian could see that there were now lines drawn by turmoil at the corners of Luke’s eyes and in the quirk of his mouth. The Mandalorian mourned the fresh-faced kid eager to get out and see the galaxy. This man looked like he might have seen too much of it.

“I would never separate you from your child,” said Luke. "I'm not that kind of Jedi." He held out his hand. “Come with us, Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian went still, frozen by possibility. He _could_ go with Luke and the Kid and find out what was on the other side of all of this. His Tribe was gone, and his ship destroyed—the two things he'd called home for so long taken away from him by a mission he never wanted and would have died to complete. He had nowhere else to go, so pointing himself in Luke’s direction didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He wanted to stay with the Kid, of course, but puzzling out this new Luke Skywalker was also _extremely_ tempting.

“You can’t leave!” shouted Bo-Katan, and the Mandalorian remembered their audience. “You have the Darksaber, that you _stole_ from me.”

“Can’t steal what you don’t want,” said the Mandalorian as he pulled the saber out of his side pouch. He looked at for a moment, then tossed it to the floor with a _clunk_.

“If you don’t want it," he said to Bo-Karan, "and I don’t want it, then I guess it stays here.”

She stared at him. "You can't be serious,” she said. “The Darksaber _must_ have a master.”

“Then fucking _take it_ ,” said the Mandalorian wearily. “Leave me out of it.”

Bo-Katan glared at him for a long moment before she sighed in resignation and stooped to pick up the Darksaber.

“I will keep it,” she said. “Not to wield it, but for when you return to take what is _accidentally_ yours.” She grinned wickedly. "And I can take it from you immediately afterward."

The Mandalorian snorted. “Have a nice wait, then,” he said. He turned his back to her and saw that the Kid had already scrambled out of his seat and was toddling to Luke, arms outstretched. With a smile Luke picked him up and cradled him in one arm and looked at the Mandalorian expectantly.

“Come with us,” he said again. “Make a home with us, my friend. I’ve missed you, and the little one will too, if you don’t.”

The Mandalorian hesitated. He felt every single day of his devotion to the Creed woven through his soul like the veins in his body, the ghost of his previous life lingering around him, a constant shadow. The helmet on his head almost _hurt_.

He looked at Luke. “I always regretted one thing,” he said. “About that night?”

A tiny wrinkle appeared in Luke’s otherwise unflappable brow. “Yes?”

“I never even told you my name," said the Mandalorian. "Not even after...that.”

“It’s alright,” Luke said easily. "You owe me no part of yourself you don't want to share, friend."

The Mandalorian ignored him. “My name is Din Djarin,” he said. “You should have known that years ago.”

Luke smiled. “I know it now,” he said. He held out his hand. “Come with me, Din Djarin.”

Din nervously smiled back. The decision was easy after that.

—end—

**Author's Note:**

> I blushed through the entire sex scene. Just so you know.
> 
> Title and quote from "Red Hill Mining Town," by U2.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as @dosmit-raeh or as @tungolcraeft on Twitter! I'm pretty boring, but I need more DinLuke friends!
> 
> *That's what she said.


End file.
